Together, Whether We Like It Or Not
by CyborgRockStar
Summary: [NonYAOI] A fivepart friendship fic starring our favorite misguided souls, the D Boys.
1. Human Today, Cyborg Tomorrow

Konnichiwa, fanfictioners! Okie, I know I have fics I have to finish…but really, I got the idea for this fic, and I was **not** about to let it turn into a failed pile of words like countless other works of mine. **So**, I have dedicatedly worked on this fic for…uh…two/three weeks. And I finished today! (Yesterday, actually, as it is 1:30 in the morning….) Anyway, this fic has five chapters. Expect updates every couple of weeks. And, in flashbacks, since I had to give the D Boys families…there will be OCs. Now, I'll quit rambling so all y'all can get reading!

Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade; it belongs to Aoki Takao. But I do own Tala's parents, Alexei and Nameless Lady.

**Start Chapter One:**

_Human Today, Cyborg Tomorrow_

General POV: Flashback

_White cigarette smoke lingered in the air, causing a foul stench that overruled that of the garbage piled in a trash bin inside a tiny apartment. A man of about six feet tall was sprawled comfortably in a chair, cigarette limply dangling from between his lips. His sharp blue eyes were deadened, sorrowful, as he stared out a miniscule window, watching snowflakes drift to the ground._

_A small red-haired boy, no older than five years, sat against the wall perpendicular to the one with the window. A stuffed brown bear, bedraggled and filthy, was clutched in his little hands._

_"Papa?" he called tentatively._

_The man turned his gaze to the little boy, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. "Whadda ya want, Tala?"_

_Tala blinked his eyes that matched his father's, and snuggled the bear closer to his torso, remaining silent. What he wanted was a hug, some love, some attention…but how was he to say this?_

_"Well?" growled the man, taking a drag on his cigarette._

_Blinking again, Tala inquired, "Can…can I watch the snow with you?" _

_Silence came from his father's lips as the man stared blankly at his child._

_"I suppose…," he muttered finally._

_Excited, Tala sprang up. He abandoned the stuffed bear and scurried over to his father, thrusting his hands eagerly toward the man in symbolism that he wanted up._

_Without a word, the brunette adult scooped Tala up, and sat the little boy down on his lap. Smiling for the first time in a while, Tala gazed out the window._

_"That's pretty," he remarked, fascinated with the way the snowflakes all zigzagged and flowed toward the same destination._

_"Alexei!" came a shrill yell from a different room._

_Tala's father set his boy down on the floor—not as tenderly as he could have—and stalked off to a different area of the apartment, cigarette back in his mouth, ignoring his boy as rapidly as he had paid him mind._

_"Papa?" _

_No response._

_Little Tala sighed disappointedly, crestfallen again. He wandered back over to his forsaken plaything, and grabbed it up._

_"Why doesn't Papa like me?" Tala asked of his bear sadly. He examined the stuffed animal's body carefully as he plopped down where he was seated before. "Your arm…."_

_The bear's left arm was attached only by a few threads and would most likely fall off any minute._

_"Maybe Mama can sow it back on, okay?" offered Tala to his bear, quickly hurrying into the room his parents were in._

_The five-year-old came into their kitchen, which was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, like the rest of their apartment. A woman, with dark green eyes and dirty-blonde hair, sat at the kitchen's table, cradling her head. Alexei was smoking still as he leaned against the table, back to Tala._

_"Let's just get rid of him, then," the man was saying, fishing in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes._

_"We can't just get rid of him, where will he go?" asked the woman, shaking her head._

_The man shrugged, preoccupied with lighting a new cigarette._

_She sighed exasperatedly. "We don't have enough money to keep him though! And it's not like we need him anyway, he's really just proving to be worthless."_

_Alexei shrugged again._

_'What are they talking about?' Tala wondered. 'Are…are they talking about me?'_

_Confused, the little redhead decided to focus on why he entered the kitchen to begin with. "Mama?"_

_Startled, the woman looked up, meeting her son's gaze. She disregarded the fact he had spoken, and said to her husband, "And I still don't understand where he got that red hair. He's got your eyes, and my nose, but that hair?"_

_"Mama, can you fix my bear?" interjected the confused child, holding his stuffed toy up._

_She stood, and took the bear from his hands, accidentally tearing the left arm off._

_Tala made a noise close to a gasp._

_"What do you want me to do?" asked his mother, either oblivious or not caring that she had ripped the boy's only toy._

_"Fix his arm," pleaded Tala a bit desperately._

_"How? By sowing it? Because I don't have anything to do that with." The woman stared at Tala expressionlessly._

_"Oh…."_

_She handed the bear and its arm back to Tala._

_"Sorry, honey. Now run along, Mama and Papa have to talk."_

_She gave a Tala a little shove to usher him out the door._

_"But—" He attempted to protest, but the door was already closed in his face._

Tala's POV: End flashback

"What's with the bear, Tala?"

The memory was instantly shattered as Ian's question broke into my thoughts.

I was holding that bear, studying it…the only toy I ever remember owning. I understand the reason for that: my family was poor.

"Well?"

I looked up from the bear, which was in awful condition, to see Ian standing with his back to the door of our dormitory.

I had been spared any extra training because BioVolt felt I was prepared for the match against Tyson, and I needed plenty of rest. Therefore, I was sent to the Demolition Boys' dormitory before my teammates.

Apparently, Ian had completed his training.

Discounting his questions, I asked of my small companion, "Where are Bryan and Spencer?"

"Spencer's training still, I suppose," Ian replied calmly, unfazed by the fact that I didn't answer his inquiries. "And Bryan…."

Who knew where Bryan was? Boris was furious at the fact that Bryan had lost to that Ray kid, especially taking into account that Ray was seriously injured when he stole the victory. Spencer, Ian, and I were taken to train, while Bryan was taken off somewhere with Boris.

Losing was the ultimate humiliation, worth punishment…. I wondered what sort of punishment Bryan would receive. Nothing light of extra training where he was whipped for each mistake, no doubt.

"Why, do you suppose, Spencer has to train?"

Ian once again penetrated my thoughts.

He had moved to his bed and was currently undressing to change into his night clothes.

"What do you mean?" I interrogated, tucking the old bear (now without both arms) away with my clothes.

"Well, he won his match against Kai"—here, Ian gave a triumphant little smirk—"and you're guaranteed a victory tomorrow, meaning we'll all be the world's top 'bladers. So why are they making him train?"

I shrugged; how should I know what went through Boris's head? Sometimes, our mentor of many years was truly unfathomable...

Ian shrugged as well, and flopped down on his bed, dressed in his night clothing. He watched me then, probably trying to figure out why in the world I would have a stuffed animal. But he said no more.

Someone knocked on our door, and it swung open.

"Valkov," a black-clad guard muttered gruffly, beckoning for me to follow him.

Without sparing Ian another glance, I trailed the guard out of our dormitory and down many stone corridors.

xXx

"Ah, Tala," my mentor greeted me, smirking.

The guard left me in a laboratory, filled with tubes, machines, and people. I stood at attention, wondering what Boris needed me for this evening.

"It's time to implement one of the final stages of our plan, which will ensure your victory tomorrow against that little brat," Boris continued. "Not that there is much likelihood that you will lose anyway…and put shame to your training like Bryan has." A look of disgust plastered his face.

"What do you need me to do, sir?"

The smirk reappeared as Boris motioned to a large, glass tube in the center of the room. "The process is complicated, but your part in it is simple. All I need you to do is take off your clothes."

Intrigued and startled by this request, I obeyed, attempting to not hesitate and not show outward signs of my reaction.

Once I was down to my boxer shorts, Boris took my clothing from me and shoved it at a nearby scientist. I scowled at her, not wanting her to stare at my body the way that she was. Hadn't she ever seen good muscle structure before? Or physical fitness? I knew it was a bit odd for a boy my age to have muscles like I did, but must she have stared?

Intimidated by my look, she hurried off to set my clothes down.

"Now Tala," Boris drew my attention to him, "I'll explain to you what is going to happen here today."

My mentor went on to explain to me the changes my body and mind were going to undergo. How I was going to be genetically enhanced, similar to the way my bitbeast was programmed. How I was going to transform into the perfect warrior, with great mental and physical capabilities.

I was to become…a cyborg.

I was basically numb while he was talking…but when Boris had concluded, my mind instantaneously started racing.

For one thing, was this what would have become of Kai had he not betrayed us? After all, he was always told how he was a 'genetically perfect' child. Would he have been changed the way I am to be? Or were they trying to make me something better than he?

And another thing…I was filled with confusion. Why must such great heights be reached? To 'ensure my victory', I know…. But still…. Would this change who I am?

Not…that I know who I am….

The confusion brought back that memory that had consumed me earlier…and it caused me to think of that day my parents discovered the Abbey.

General POV: Flashback

_"Wow, that's pretty cheap! How do you keep up your training facility if that's all you charge?"_

_"Well, Mr. Valkov, my corporation, BioVolt, isn't that poor, you know."_

_"If that's all the money it takes to get Tala in, we'll gladly accept."_

_Little Tala, only six years of age, stood next to his mother, hugging his ramshackle bear, listening to his father and this new man, Boris, talk about him._

_"Your son did excellently with our required test—he has some skill in beyblading, and it would be my pleasure to hone that skill."_

_"Is he really that good at beyblading?" Tala's mother piped up, directing her question at Boris as she stared down at her son._

_"Oh yes," Boris replied, nodding, "he is quite proficient. He easily defeated the other boy, and his display was rather remarkable." The purple-haired man smiled in an unusually kind way. "So, would you like to enroll him here?"_

_"Certainly," Alexei, continuing his chain-smoking, answered immediately. "It will give us all the money we need to survive well if we have one less mouth to feed."_

_"And it seems a good opportunity for him," added Tala's mother, feeling some caring for her young son and his future._

_"I understand. Come, there are papers that must be signed."_

_Boris led Tala's parents away from the testing room and down another hallway, a bewildered little Tala following suit._

_'Do they really want to get rid of me?'_

Tala's POV: End flashback

"Get ready to go inside," Boris ordered, pointing to the tube, disallowing me to think anymore about my feelings…not that my mentor gave a care about them anyway, as he had gladly expressed before. I wasn't supposed to let anyone know what I was feeling anyway: I was to keep it inside, ignore it all.

Boris must never have tried this himself, because even after all these years, I still can't manage to block or bottle every emotion.

Scientists attached monitoring devices to me on multiple parts of my body, then ushered me inside the tube. I narrowed my eyes as the glass door swung closed behind me.

"This will be painless, Tala," Boris's muffled voice came, and I picked up no concern in his tone—only excitement.

From the top of the tube, a strange, green, sparkly gaseous substance was emitted. It wafted downward, closer to me.

I heard the voice of a scientist say something about my heart rate, and Boris commanded me to calm down and breathe it in.

Forcing myself to relax, telling myself this gas wouldn't harm me because Boris wouldn't do that to me, I inhaled. For a brief moment, my lungs burned, and I thought I was going to suffocate. But in the next instant, I felt as though I were breathing air.

The green gas consumed me, and I felt myself slip into a peaceful calm. Coolness against my feet startled me a bit, though all I did was look down. My eyes met with liquid the same color as the gas, rising steadily up my legs. Not that I cared: I was feeling too serene right now.

The gas had me unconscious before the liquid ever reached above my waist.

xXx

"—Cyber-Tala!"

Boris's voice rang in my ears, resonated in my soul, when I awoke.

My body felt cool, wet…but that liquid wasn't there anymore. I could hear a faint hissing sound and a beeping in the distance, along with a pleased chuckle from Boris.

'Cyber-Tala…. Have I changed? I don't feel any different….'

Ever-so-slowly, I opened my eyes. For an instant, everything was blurry, and I truly believed that I saw my parents for a split second. Once I blinked, my vision came into focus.

Suddenly, my brain began some sort of analysis. It was unintentional, involuntary, but it happened and it felt as though it needed to happen. My mind began processing everything, everyone. It flipped through mental files of information on every person in the room (including Voltaire and Boris) reabsorbing any scraps of data I had of them. At the same time, my body considered every change that had been made to it.

And yet, somehow, I felt no mental exhaustion when this process was complete…which was only a minute or less, strangely enough.

Voltaire and Boris had been speaking to each other, and I endeavored to listen then:

Boris called me the 'ultimate bey-warrior'. He said I was unstoppable, especially with a 'techno-advanced beyblade at my side'. My mentor then tossed me a gray beyblade, which I caught accurately.

"Now, my Cyber-Tala," Boris commanded, and I stood at attention, ready and willing to live up to his standards, "destroy the BladeBreakers!"

I held up my new beyblade in the air, remaining silent, feeling a rejuvenated desire to carry out my orders.

Perhaps, I had changed…but all I knew was that I had to defeat Tyson the following day.

**:End Chapter One**

Ooh…this turned out much better than I planned! I don't know where this chapter came from even, but I'm proud of it…. It's my personal fave of the five chaps. How'd you all like it? Please review!

have a nice day

CyborgRockStar


	2. Everybody's Fool

**SOMEONE2003**: Wow…thanks for all the flattering compliments! It's relieving that they're in-character, I was worried about that, though I'm not so sure I keep them i-c throughout all the chapters. I'm so happy you like it so much! Here, have some pocky for being the first reviewer!

**Bra-Two**: Hey, I thought it was a good review! Probably because you called my ficcy brilliant. _blissful sigh_ And the bear is…'innocently evil'? LOL.

**Blood of the Wolf**: Highly amusing review! LOL! I couldn't stop laughing, man, thanks so much! And sorry, Kai, you're not in this fic.

**The Dark Light 22**: Ne, cool name! I'm flattered you like my fic even if you hate Beyblade! And I like the flashbacks too.

**Tala's-Soul**: I was hooked on writing it…. And, whee, you got lots of enthusiasm there. That's a good thing!

**SN**: Yay, glad you love it, I love it too!

**biker chick**: In that sense then, there's lots of insight about the D Boys' families here. Wish the show had told more about their pasts, though. Ah well.

**aries1391**: Thanks very much, I'm glad you like my stuff! You're a great author yourself.

**storm-of-insanity**: Is this soon enough?

**Shadowy Bey-gurl**: Yeah, totally cute! Thanks for reviewing all those fics of mine.

**ed**: Welp, here's more!

**krage**: Yay, another person loves it! _happy-happy-joy-joy_ What does your penname mean?

**ghostymangarocker**: Don't know which is worse either. And, er, sure, you can call me Cyborg if you want.

Oh wowy, so many reviews! _throws confetti _Thanks very much, reviewers! And thanks to the people that put this on their favorites already! Man, my life just gets better and better and better….

And I hope this chapter lives up to everybody's standards….

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade; it belongs to Aoki Takao. But I do own Brody and Dimitri, Ian's evil brothers.

**Start Chapter Two:**

_Everybody's Fool_

Ian's POV

I didn't worry about why Tala was getting taken somewhere: After all, he was to battle tomorrow, so he was probably just getting a pep talk or something. But I was curious as to why he had that bear.

Two glassy black eyes stared up at me from Tala's duffel bag. Obviously, with the condition this thing was in, it had seen many a-day.

'Probably some childhood toy of his,' I concluded, 'But why does he still have it?'

I heard the door creak open, and I turned to see who it was.

Spencer closed the door behind him.

"What are you doing, Ian?" he questioned, with an undertone of suspicion.

I straightened up from my squatting position, not bothering to answer.

"Did you have extra training today?" I asked him, also intent on understanding why Boris would want Spencer to train still.

"No."

That's Spencer for you: Not wasting his time to explain anything. He's blunt, straightforward, and quiet by nature.

"Where were you then?" I persisted.

"Outside."

My look told him I wanted more than that.

"Boris gave me some time off, so I wanted to go outside, just to relax."

"Hm."

Spencer began changing into his night clothes. "Where's Tala?"

"What, you don't care to know where Bryan is?"

Spencer shot me a look that plainly was a warning. "I asked you where Tala is, Ian."

Despite everything he's been through, Spencer has managed to cling to his compassion. So somewhere under that quiet, bulky, deadly exterior is some caring…for his teammates anyway. None of us knew where Bryan was, so he naturally wouldn't ask about it, though.

I shrugged. "Some guard took him away a few minutes ago."

Spencer nodded.

"We ought to get some sleep, don't you think?" I suggested, climbing under my bedcovers.

The blond nodded again, and followed suit in his own bed.

I don't know how, but they managed to cram four beds in our dormitory, which only makes the room smaller. Not that we have much in it anyway: Just our beds and one duffel bag of clothes and personal items each. And a tiny bathroom is attached to our room, which is quite convenient, as the other boys at the Abbey have a 'public' restroom.

The miniscule window was spilling moonlight, casting eerie shadows on the door. I watched them out of boredom, as I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep; I was too anxious.

What were they doing to Bryan? Where was Tala at? What was going to happen tomorrow, after Tala won and fulfilled Boris and Voltaire's dreams?

I never actually believed tomorrow would come. Then again, I never actually thought I would be a part of the Abbey's beyblading team. And I managed that, didn't I?

Restlessly, I rolled over onto my side, and stared at Bryan's empty bed next to me. It took me a while to realize it, but in the faint moonlight, I could make out a dark shape on his neatly made-up bed sheets. Out of boredom, I attempted to examine it. Eventually, I recognized the fact that the shape was moving.

Quirking an eyebrow, I viewed it scuttling slowly across the covers. Squinting, I realized that it had eight legs.

A shudder caused my body to tremble slightly as I watched the spider crawl along Bryan's bed. I hate spiders. It makes me feel so _weak_ that I'm actually _afraid_ of them. Not that I don't have good reasoning, I suppose.

General POV: Flashback

_A four-year-old boy, physically underdeveloped, lay sprawled in his shared bed, sleeping peacefully with his pillow tucked under his arm. His dark purple hair was unkempt and greasy, his clothing disheveled and tattered, and the boy looked as though he hadn't bathed in a while._

_In the same room, another boy, of about seven years, sat against a wall, gazing at the ceiling with boredom. Just as the boy with purple, messy hair like his brother's sighed, he felt something tickling his hand. Startled, the little boy jerked his hand to his chest, and stared down at the floor, only to see a small black spider scurrying away._

_Something seemed to click in the child's mind, and he looked toward his sleeping brother with a smirk._

_The seven-year-old scooted toward the spider, which had crawled partially up the wall with peeling wallpaper. He lashed out quickly, and managed to grab hold of the spider by one of its legs. The victimized arachnid struggled and swung about wildly, endeavoring to escape back to freedom at whatever cost._

_The child paid no mind to the spider's movements as he stealthily crept toward his little brother. _

"_Oh, I-an," he chorused in a singsong voice, "time to wake-u-up."_

_As four-year-old Ian blinked his blood-red eyes slowly, his brother dropped the creature on Ian's pillow._

_Realizing there was a spider quite close to his face, Ian screamed. He threw the pillow off the bed, and leapt off the other side._

_His brother was highly amused, guffawing and clutching his sides._

"_Why'd you do that, Brody?" questioned little Ian in a shaky voice, tears prickling his eyes._

_Brody, seemingly paying Ian no attention, scooped the spider up again from the floor non-too-tenderly._

"_What's going on?" a harsh male voice rang through the air, and the two little boys could hear footsteps hammering closer._

_Quite soon, a young man of about sixteen appeared in the doorway, glowering menacingly at his younger brothers._

"_Sp-spider!" exclaimed Ian, pointing flamboyantly at Brody._

_Like that was his cue, Brody sprung across the bed, and waved the helpless spider in Ian's face. Resulting, Ian shrieked, shielding his face with his hands._

"_Stop it, you two!" the sixteen-year-old yelled. He stormed over to the little boys and gruffly ripped them apart from each other. "Brody! Leave Ian alone, if he doesn't like spiders! And Ian! Stop screaming, it doesn't help anyone!" _

_The eldest boy stalked away, scratching his blue-haired, greasyhead, as none of them had been bathed in a while._

_All the commotion had caused Brody to squish the spider in his fingers. Some reddish guts were protruding from its side, and a few of its legs were twisted the wrong way._

_Snorting, Brody shot Ian a dangerous look, and stomped away._

_A few hours later, a bone-chilling scream erupted through the small apartment Ian's family occupied. His father was dead, his mother was out drinking—leaving the eldest to care for his little brothers._

_And seemingly, no one in the apartments surrounding them cared to see what all the screaming was._

_The eldest boy shot up in his bed, and glared with an intense though questioning look at the bed next to his._

_Brody was leaning against the wall, laughing heartily. Little Ian was sobbing as he sat up in their bed. The dead spider was on his pillow, even more mutilated then before._

"_Dimitri! Dimitri!" called Brody, attempting to stifle his laughter. "It was too funny! I put the spider on Ian's pillow, and he rolled over on it! Look! There's spider guts in his hair!"_

_Dimitri smirked at the joke, but quickly regained his strict countenance. "Ian, stop crying! It was only a stupid, dead spider!"_

Ian's POV: End Flashback

'If only my incompetent, worthless family could see me now,' I thought heatedly.

I shoved all recollection of my family from my mind and made a decision.

I slid out of my bed, and knelt next to Bryan's, being careful not to get too close to the arachnid. Studying it, I discovered its diameter was about one and one-half inches, discounting its leg-span. With a slight gulp, I watched it sit there, waiting for me to touch it.

Somehow, it felt as though it were mocking me, taunting me. The way my useless brother used to do, since he always enjoyed poking fun at me for various reasons, including my height and my fear of spiders.

Gathering all the courage I could muster, I lifted my hand. To my disgust, it was _trembling_.

'Am I really _that_ afraid of a stupid spider?'

My pounding heart answered that one for me.

"Ian?" came Spencer's tired voice. I ignored it. "Ian? What are you doing?"

I was determined to touch this spider. After all, I had managed to fulfill my other goals: I dreamt of being a beyblader, and I did that, didn't I? I even surpassed that level, and went on to become one of the _best_ beybladers this country had ever seen! I wasn't going to let a measly spider make a mockery of everything I had become; after all, I was no longer a dumb, scared little boy: I had become a strong _warrior_.

"Ian? What are you doing?"

Spencer's voice not only seemed a lot closer but I was surprised to hear _concern _in his tone. Suddenly, I could feel his warm breath on my neck. Startled, I turned my head, and found him gaping at the spider with a raised eyebrow.

He didn't say anything, but gave me a look that spoke for him.

"Never mind," I grumbled.

"Go to sleep," he commanded, throwing me a last concerned look before heading back to his bed.

Disregarding Spencer, I gazed back at the spider. My heart nearly stopped when I noticed it was on the move.

'Touch it, touch it, _touch it_!' my mind was screaming at me.

_SLAM!_

I barely managed to suppress my jump at the sudden noise, but I did manage to fall backwards into my bed. I glanced toward the door to see it flung open, and none other than Bryan standing in the doorway, breathing heavily.

Momentarily forgetting the spider and the vow I made to myself about touching it, I leapt to my feet. "Bryan! Where have you been?"

The only answer I received was a sinister glower as the lavender-haired boy stalked into our dormitory, slamming the door shut behind him. He yanked his night clothes from his bag and scowled heatedly at me.

"What're you doing?" he growled tiredly, more irritable than usual.

I scowled right back. "Why does everyone want to know?"

"You were staring at my bed."

"There's a spider…."

Bryan walked around to the side of his bed I was on, and gazed at the bed. I noted how much more threatening and angry he looked then usual, not to mention exhausted; I tried to see if his shirt was blood-stained at all, because they very well may have whipped him.

"Who gives a care?" he snarled, pale eyes following the brown spider's every movement. When it scuttled to a stop on his pillow, Bryan seized it up roughly.

"What are you doing?" I asked automatically, not having realized I spoke until I had already. With sincerity I hoped I did not sound afraid.

Bryan eyed me. "What does it look like I'm doing?" It seemed he was studying me…and eventually he smirked. "Ian…you're not afraid of a wee spider, are you?"

"What?" I tried to sound as if no such thing was true, but I'm not sure how convincing I was.

Apparently not too much, because Bryan's smirk widened as he continued. "That's _pathetic_, Ian. Of all things in life, you're afraid of one, measly, harmless bug." After some punishment, tormenting me must have gave Bryan real pleasure.

"Some people are, Bryan, and it's not a conscious decision." I think both of us were startled to hear Spencer speak, as the two of us goggled at him.

"Standing up for him, are you, Spencer?"

The blonde simply shrugged.

"Hmpf."

I made a mental note to, perhaps, thankSpencer for that. Upon turning my head around, though, I came face-to-face with the spider, being dangled in mid-air by one of its legs.

Subconsciously, I released a yelp, stumbling backwards until I hit my bed and tumbled onto it. (Of course it was subconscious, would I ever have any desire to display weakness, especially in front of Bryan?)

As predicted, Bryan laughed that strange, evil cackle of his. I hate that laugh. It's…_inhuman_, the way it's void of humor and chalked with cruel uncaring. Then again, Bryan's not much of a regular teen….

He carelessly dumped the arachnid on the floor, relishing in my expression of anger and fright, and turned back to his night clothes.

Trying with all my might to be rid of the blush that had tinged my cheeks, I snarled, "What was _that_ for, Bryan?"

"I needed something to lighten my spirits," he responded, with a hint of 'I'm-loving-your-pain' in his tone.

Growling and glaring, I climbed back under my covers, involuntarily hoping the spider wasn't on my bed.

A few moments later, I heard the squeaking of the bedsprings in Bryan's mattress, and I turned my blood-red gaze on him—only to see him smirking slightly with his eyes already closed.

I snorted before saying, "What'd they make you do today, Bryan? Extra training? Experiments?"

"Extra training," he muttered back uninterestedly, any signs of amusement now long gone from his features. As a matter of fact, exhaustion seemed to be conquering him finally after a long day.

"Did they whip you?" Even I was disgusted by the somewhat hopeful undertone in my voice.

"Probably will tomorrow. Too suspicious if I'm injured at the Championships…." His voice had become a murmur.

"Hm."

'I missed my chance…I could have—no, _should_ have—touched that spider. Instead of proving everybody wrong…I made myself look like a fool. … Bryan was acting just like Brody, treating me the same way…using my fear against me for amusement, then pretending nothing had happened and overlooking the fact that I'm angry…. But that's just my fault, isn't it? I should have hidden my fear. There must have been _some way_ to do that….'

I sighed, closing my eyes.

'Oh well. I've always been a fool and a nobody. What's really the point of contemplating the matter? I have more important things to worry about…like where on Earth Tala is…and then, of course, the impending Championship Finals tomorrow…. What's life going to be like…once Voltaire and Boris…come to power?'

**:End Chapter Two**

The first chapter was better, meh.I don't really know why I made Ian suffer from arachnophobia...probably because I do, LOL. And he needed some internal issue to deal with, ne?

Next chappie's about Bryan, everyone's favorite sadist!

Thanks for reading! Please review!

have a nice day

CyborgRockStar


	3. The Humanoid Robot

**storm-of-insanity**: Yeah, don't know many people that like spiders…. My favorite D Boys are Ian and Tala. Bryan's…evil. I don't know why so many people like him either…but I think people change him in fics and stuff to make him suit their liking. (Not all fics, mind.) Matter of fact, I'm not sure how in-character I made him, _sigh_.Thanks for sharing your opinion. :D

**ghostymangarocker**: No, no, you didn't creep me out at all! Sorry if it sounded that way! And yes, I think it's cool that the chapters linked too, I find that sorta difficult. :D Yay, original….

**Chibi-Lothlen**: Thank you for all the advice and stuff. I suppose it makes sense if Tala was a test-tube baby, oh well, I never thought of that. I really do appreciate your thoughts there, but I like the style this is written in, with the flashbacks and POV-switching, so I'm leaving as is, I'm sorry if you mind.

**krage**: Gee, thanks for ze compliments. :) I'm glad you like the style.

**Blood of the Wolf**: LOL:) Yeah…calm. _snickersnicker_ I am terrified of spiders. Even dead ones freak me out. _sweatdrop _I am enjoying, thank you.

**carzla**: Ne, thank you! Another person who doesn't like the flashbacks thing? Oh well…I'm sorry, I like the way I wrote this, the flashbacks are staying as is. And about Tala…er…sorry, I tried. :) Thanks for the constructive criticism though, I very much appreciate it.

**Shadowy Bey-gurl**: Yayfulness!

**aries1391**: Thankies. :) Yeah, I don't know how I wrote that about making him smash it with his head, if that happened to me, I'd probably have a panic attack…. And the spiders are most likely out to get us all…as is my evil porcupine army. :)

**Tala's-Soul**: Yes, I know that pain too. T T

Thanks for all the kind reviews, people! I amazed with how many I'm getting. :)

And last weekend was my due update time, so sorry this is seven days late. Next time, I'll really try to update on my set time!

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade; it belongs to Aoki Takao. I guess I own Bryan's mother, not that she has a name or a description or anything…. XD

**Start Chapter Three:**

_The Humanoid Robot_

Bryan's POV

"Twenty more push-ups!"

"Yessir…."

Sweat beaded down my face as I dropped to the ground to carry out Boris's order….

This was the part of being trained at Balkov Abbey that was horrible—all the physical strains.

Usually, when an Abbey student suffered the ultimate humiliation of defeat, they were thrown out onto the streets, back into their grimy families. But Tala, Spencer, Ian, and I…we were different. Being part of the team truly had its perks…we didn't get kicked out of the Abbey after making the worst of mistakes and _losing_ a beybattle. Instead, we were to endure strenuous physical training…more strenuous than usual, I should say.

So, after losing to that bratty, inept, little kitty-boy, I had to push myself to my limits in Boris's training session.

After I had finished push-up twenty, I barely resisted the urge to collapse onto the ground: My arm muscles were giving out.

"Alright…that's enough. For now, anyway," Boris stated. "Tomorrow, we will continue this training. For now, join Spencer and Ian in your dormitory. Dismissed."

My mentor proceeded to leave a bottle of water next to me, and he swept from the room, not sparing me another glance.

I seized the water bottle and literally _crawled_ over to the nearest wall, where I propped myself up against it, head spinning with water intake—or lack thereof. For a few precious, relieving moments, I sipped clean water, my eyes closed in an attempt to relax.

In time, I pulled myself up, and continued sipping water as I wandered out of the room and down many hallways, trying to catch my breath. I'm not even sure how I managed to move: Exhaustion was squeezing the air from my lungs and exertion was causing my body to ache.

And the dim, bland corridors weren't exactly improving my mood.

'The interior decorators of this place must have been keeping in mind that we were to be rid of useless positive emotions. So they created this dismal environment to weigh our spirits down. A good tactic, actually.'

Halfway back to my room, I leaned against a cool stone wall, sighing, and sipped more water.

'Boris only mentioned Ian and Spencer being in our dormitory. Tala should be there, by all means, they aren't going to deprive a good soldier of sleep before his most significant battle….'

I scowled, gazing absently at the ceiling.

'Boris must have his reasons, I suppose. He does know what's best for us…after all, he trained us. Took all of us societal rejects in and transformed us into warriors.'

Societal rejects…that's precisely what the Demolition Boys were. We each had rough lives before coming here….

Children are born with purity and innocence. The purity is soon tainted by the corruption and sin created by the child's predecessors. The innocence is shed as age morphs the soul. All four of us lost our purity and innocence much too soon.

Me myself…I was born innocent like any other child. But life, inevitably, stripped it away by throwing me into a dysfunctional family. Life showed me what it is to suffer, what it is to starve, what it is to cry...all much too early. Then life tore me away from all that familiar misery, and forced me to become a soldier. And I believed that I not only was a soldier for Boris and Voltaire in the bey-arena, but also a soldier against life itself, against everything life brought me.

Therefore, I suppose I blamed all my suffering on life. And life can be blamed on my wretched parents….

Everyone seemed to think of me as nothing more than brooding, mysterious, malicious, and perhaps…insane. But they didn't know what life did to me. What right have they to judge? Life gave me to my parents, who truly did not have any purpose or goal.

General POV: Flashback

_A child of just less than four years sat alone in the corner of a small kitchen. He sniffled, swiping a tear off his pale, dirty cheek. For the umpteenth time in the last hour, his stomach rumbled impatiently._

_A young woman—probably only twenty—staggered into the kitchen, a large bruise swelling her eye closed, cursing loudly. She kicked the nearest dilapidated chair, causing it to crash to the ground. _

_Gulping in intimidation, the little boy mumbled, "Mama?"_

_The lady sent her child a spine-tingling glower. "What is it **now**, Bryan?"_

_The lavender-haired little boy sniffled again._

"_What **is** it, Bryan?"_

_Bryan clutched his abdomen as it rumbled again, and muttered, "I'm hungry…."_

"_Too bad!" shrieked the woman, storming over to the kitchen table. "We don't have any food! You know why?"_

_The little boy remained silent, tears slowly making their way down his cheeks._

"_You're **father** quit **another **job! **Two months ago**! Did he tell me? **No**! 'Why aren't we getting income, dear?' 'I quit my job.' To Hell with him!"_

_The purple-haired young lady lost herself in her rant, plopping down on a chair and taking a swig of the half-empty bottle of liquor upon the wood._

_Again, the little boy's stomach growled. More tears leaked from Bryan's eyes, and he quickly wiped them away, recalling how his father had hit him once before for crying._

_Bryan tentatively tottered forward, and clasped his hands on his mother's leg. "Mama?"  
_

"_What?" she snarled angrily, taking a sip of the alcohol._

_Bryan blinked, unsure what to say. He was hungry, his mother had just denied him food…but he was determined to press on. "I'm…hungry…."_

"_Were you not listening? I just said **we don't have food**!"_

_Bryan nodded, clinging tighter to his mother's pant leg. His stomach rumbled again, and he couldn't stop the tears from flowing. He sobbed for a few minutes into his mother, hoping against everything he knew that she would pick him up lovingly, cradle him, and feed him._

_But no such thing happened…on the contrary, she flat-out disregarded his presence._

Bryan's POV: End flashback

'That's enough of that happy reminiscing….'

xXx

'Ian is so pathetic.'

So true. Not only was he afraid of _spiders_ (of all things) but he made no effort to hide it. Little idiot. At least it was fun to toy with his fear; laughing, though, causes my lungs to ache.

No one in this miserable world—outside of my team, anyway—seemed to think I had feelings. Of course I did, bunch of dolts. It would be mentally impossible to block every feeling…though I am dangerously close to doing so. I grew up uncaring, though Tala, Ian, and Spencer had influenced me otherwise—they liked to consider me part of their little 'family', and if my opinion weren't so swayed at believing my mentor, perhaps I would have mulled over this concept.

Though…long ago I did.

The point I'm trying to make is that…injuring Ian emotionally the way I had with his little fear of spiders (which, I hate to admit, Spencer was right about) made me feel the _tiniest_ pang of guilt.

So I glanced over in his direction, to find his eyes closed. Upon further examination, I discovered he wasn't sleeping: His breathing patterns told me so. But there was no way on Earth or in Hell I was going to apologize—he could handle it.

"Something on your mind, Bryan?" came Spencer's remotely interested voice. I shifted my gaze to him.

Suddenly, my exhaustion seemed to come to its worst: Finally taking effect, I suppose. Disregarding Spencer's question, I rolled onto my side so I could face Tala's empty bed, and tried in vain to catch some sleep; it kept slipping through my fingers.

A serene silence palled our dormitory, and seemed to be goading me into the world of sleep. Just as I began dozing off in the pleasant noiselessness, the creaking of our door could be heard. My assumption was proved correct when I heard Ian mumble, "Tala? Where have you been?"

There was no reply from our captain, not that I cared: I was feeling rather irritable, though tiredness was keeping my mouth shut.

"Something wrong?" said the distant voice of Spencer.

I heard the door swish shut and Tala's mattress squeak.

"Tala? Where were you?" Ian repeated.

Again, a silence descended, though I believe this one was tenser.

"Tala. Answer us already," Ian firmly stated.

"What, precisely, do you require me to say, Ian?"

The silence was definitely strange this time.

"Where did you go?" our shortest member inquired, conviction apparently not waning.

"Boris called for me…. My transformation into the perfect soldier is now completed. Tomorrow, my victory against that worthless brat is guaranteed."

"…What?"

"It's too complex for you to comprehend, I imagine."

"What?" This time, Ian seemed offended. I heard him leap off his bed.

'This is getting interesting….'

I opened my eyes to see Tala, seated on his bed with straight posture and icy, blank eyes.

'Something…just seems…different about him….'

I slowly sat up, ogling my teammates with my usual impassive stare, bidding my breath to come noiselessly.

Tala shrugged. "I'm not sure how much your formal education has paid off. If you're not informed enough in genetics, you surely won't be able to understand what my body and brain have undergone."

For once, Ian didn't seem to mind displaying his emotions: He appeared rather confused, with declining confidence…and perhaps a little hurt. "Spit it out, Tala, I understand genetics just fine."

With a half-shrug, Tala began blabbering about some 'cyborg' mumbo-jumbo.

Me myself, I never really gave a care about the education in the Abbey…moreover, just the beyblading. Not that I'm uneducated or dull-witted. But I comprehended Tala's words fairly well…I understood enough, anyway, to fathom what changes his body had experienced.

We were all silent for a few moments, the only noise in our entire dormitory being Tala's mattress creaking as he settled down for the night.

"Seems Tala's become a robot, just like you, Bryan," muttered Ian heatedly, glaring at both of us as he slumped—solemn look upon his features—into his bedding.

'A robot…?'

General POV: Flashback

"_Bryan! How could you do this?"_

_The lavender-haired child shrugged indifferently, apparently not caring that he had shown less-than-mercy to his teammate in their beybattle._

"_You utilized Falborg to **injure** Spencer! You failed to display any sort of human compassion for your own **friend**!" Tala continued with his harsh lecture to Bryan, hoping to make some impact in the troubled eleven-year-old's mentality._

"_Who are you kidding, Tala?" piped up Ian as he studied some of Spencer's wind-induced cuts carefully. "Bryan doesn't even know what compassion is! And he's far from human. In fact, the scientists oughta just turn him into a robot, with the way his heart is emotionless and cold. Oh, what am I saying? He doesn't have a heart." _

_Bryan glowered at his short companion._

"_Silence, Ian!" commanded Tala irritably, sending a 'don't-meddle-in-my-affairs' look his way._

_Scowling, Ian discounted him and Bryan, and carried on aiding his large teammate._

"_Bryan, why have you neglected any care you ever housed for us?" persisted Tala._

"_Emotions are **weak**, Tala, and you know as much. Caring for you all will do me no good," Bryan finally muttered with conviction._

"_This is your own teammate, your own **friend** we're talking about! Emotions might prove useless, but surely you can muster some compassion for **us**?"_

"_I have no 'friends', Tala. Stop lecturing me and mind your own business."_

"_Your business is mine—I am your team captain, meaning I must attend to your…flaws."_

"_Flaws?" Bryan snorted, crossing his arms defiantly. "In this matter, I display no flaws! I am simply listening to our mentor."_

"_How so?" _

"_Boris has introduced me to this life, has taught me to become a soldier. I am sticking to those ideals, understand, Tala? Boris told me emotions are weak, and I have come to realize that is the truth!"_

"_Give it up, Tala," Ian persevered. "Bryan has become nothing more than a **robot**. He doesn't have any feelings and doesn't care that he doesn't."_

_The adolescent-in-question glared hard at Ian, but couldn't help wonder unintentionally if this statement was true._

Bryan's POV: End flashback

"I am not a robot, Ian," Tala corrected from the bed next to me in the same monotonous tone he had been using. "I am a soldier, a _cyborg_. And I still very well have feelings."

The purple-haired kid snorted. "Doubt it."

"Stop acting so childish!" Tala snapped.

"Hmpf."

Somewhat less tense silence descended, until it was broken by Spencer.

"So you're going to win it for us tomorrow?"

"Certainly."

As I closed my eyes, exhaustedly bidding sleep to come, an anxiousness clenched my heart.

'Tomorrow…the Championships…Voltaire and Boris's dream will be fulfilled by Tala. What will life become? … No point in thinking about it…whatever happens, happens. Tala said he's going to win, and he does what he says. …

But…I just can't shake the thought of…Ian's words. Have I morphed into something resembling a _robot_? Perhaps…I've become something more than a soldier…something feared and despised, with no feelings or friends... It's certain, then, that I no longer have a life worth leading…if you can even call this messed-up mistake a life. …

I am the precise definition of a humanoid robot.'

**:End Chapter Three**

Chapter three is done…meaning the fic is close to its end. Oh the sorrow. …Sorta.

With this chapter, I don't think I kept them in-character, so sorry if I didn't. Please tell me how I did with that.

At any rate, thank you for reading. Please review!

have a nice day

CyborgRockStar


	4. Luckiest of the Unlucky

**storm-of-insanity**: Hm, good point, makes sense. Thanks for the in-put.

**aries1391**: Glad you think he was IC.

**Chibi-Lothlen**: Thanks for your detailed in-put on his IC/OOC-ness. And especially thank you for putting this on your favorites list and mentioning that on your profile page—so awesome!

**ghostymangarocker**: Wow, thanks for all those encouraging words! Yours is the kind of review I look forward to receiving.

**Tala's-Soul**: LOL. And thanks for the compliments.

Welcome back, yo. Number of reviews per chapter drastically decreased, but that's okay when I get such kind ones. Thanks, everyone!

Now folks, about this chapter—personally, it's the worst one: I don't know anything about Spencer, the dude hardly spoke at all or did much, so I just sort of made up his entire personality while trying to keep it D Boy-worthy. I tried, really I did, and I'd much appreciate (again) knowing what you thought of his character!

And I would have updated last weekend, but I was really busy, so I made a point of updating today.

Now read on and enjoy, ne?

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade; it belongs to Aoki Takao. Though I do own Spencer's nameless grandmother.

**Start Chapter Four:**

_Luckiest of the Unlucky_

Spencer's POV

I watched the happenings of my teammates interestedly, only speaking when necessary like usual, attempting to observe them to maybe get the tip of the iceberg on the confusing whirlwinds of their minds.

Confusing…that was a perfect word for the matter. Each of them—me as well—were complicated puzzles, enigmatic in our own ways. Add our training to our teenage hormones, and you have one mashed-up mess of confusion.

First off tonight, there's Ian. What was going on with him? Ogling a spider? And he acted pretty strangely when Bryan shoved it in his face…. He was obviously afraid of spiders, but what could possibly have driven him to such fear? Especially one that he was unable to control? Sure, he was startled, but even so, he should have had at least a smidgen of control over that fright, with our extensive training.

Then there's Bryan…. Not that he was ever fathomable. Matter of fact, he was always sort of an oddball. That's not his fault—he suffered neglect and some abuse—and he only shared that with us when he had a shred of naivety and innocence left in his youth. Actually, we sort of had to figure that out as well, as time went on. Today, he was his usual cruel self, probably aided by the fact he was forced into extra training and was pretty much a victim of mockery all over the Abbey—word spread that he was beaten by a battered amateur. Still…. Oh, what was I trying to get at? He wouldn't have shown any kindness to Ian anyway. Though…I feared something else was going on within him. He must have been having some inside struggle, I would have imagined, after failing his team, his mentors, and himself.

Lastly, we came to Tala. I hadn't seen much of him today, and now he came back talking about his 'genetic enhancements' and the fact that he's a 'cyborg'. That's far from ordinary…but not unbelievable or even impossible. Taking into account Boris and Voltaire's strong desires to fulfill their ambitions, and Boris's variety of scientific knowledge, scientists, and equipment…Tala very well could have been…'modified'. But what had it done to him—not physically or mentally, but emotionally and as a person? He seemed on the brink of his normality, so that was a relief. I just wondered what changes we could expect from him….

It seemed my teammates had settled down for the night, and hopefully we'd all get some good rest. I wasn't sure how well any of us would be able to sleep, though…our mentors' dream was being fulfilled tomorrow. Hopefully…

I believed I was the only person in the whole of Abbey who considered the possibility that Tala would not win against Tyson. Anything's possible, right? Sure, he had technology on his side, not to mention he housed extraordinary skill and had it honed to perfection…but…I was impressed, if no one else was, with this boy's—Ray, I think—performance against Bryan.

Bryan was proficient in the beydish, not to mention had Boris's ingenious technology backing him. Using his vicious force, he had forced this novice, Ray, back, and injured the boy to the point I thought it was amazing he was still fighting. So, how was it physically possible for Ray to steal the win?

Perhaps it was some working of a higher power, some type of miracle; maybe luck was on Ray's side; maybe this and maybe that…but in all actuality, I think we were underestimating our opponents.

Maybe Tala wasn't going to win….

Not that I believed that he wasn't going to win. I was just considering the possibility. After all, one should mull over every option.

A bit anxious, I closed my eyes against the bright moonlight reflecting off the snow, and wished sleep to come. My mind was too full of thought to shut down for the night, so I was stuck tossing and turning restlessly. Upon glancing at my teammates every so often, I noted they were each doing the same—except Tala didn't seem to be having as much trouble.

I rolled onto my side so I was facing the bland stone wall. Once again, I closed my eyes to endeavor to sleep. A memory flowed into my brain, taking over my world, pushing sleep away.

General POV: Flashback

_A mildly burly and tall five-year-old lay on his stiff mattress, restlessly flailing about. With a whiny growl, he shot up to a sitting position, crossing his arms._

"_Can't sleep…," he mumbled heatedly to himself, raking a hand through his blond hair._

_Cold floor causing his bare feet to tingle, the little boy traveled to the room next-door in the cramped home._

"_Grandmama?" the child called, entering the bedroom. The lump in the bed stirred, making a noise close to a snore-snort hybrid. "Grandmama?"_

_Blue eyes bright, the little boy jumped up onto the bed, mattress springs squeaking under the excess pressure. He shook the lump gently._

"_Hm, hm?" moaned the person under the covers. _

_An elderly lady sat up in the bed at another call of "Grandmama", clad in a blue nightgown. _

"_Yes, Spencer dear?" she mumbled soothingly, appearing generally concerned for her adopted child as she blinked sleepily._

"_I can't fall asleep," he complained, folding his arms again._

"_Ah. Come here, little one, let Grandmama tell you a story."_

_Spencer crawled into her warm embrace, snuggling into her arms, as she began telling him a Russian fairytale she heard from her parents in her youth._

_Not that Spencer heard it all—he was asleep three quarters of the way through._

_The elderly woman laid the boy down tenderly in her bed, and swept into his room to sleep._

Spencer's POV: End flashback

That woman was too kind to me…. My father died when I was two, so my mother moved in with her mother. Though she soon died when I was four, and my grandmother took rightful custody of me, as neither parent had many other relations. I believed she installed some of this compassion in me that Tala and Ian find so intriguing.

A pang of guilt resonated through my soul again. That seemed to happen when I thought of my family. I didn't have as many troubles as Tala, Ian, and Bryan. They all lived in ramshackle apartments, with seemingly uncaring family members, they hardly got bathed or received any essentials…. At least I had two loving parents and a kindhearted grandmother….

A quiet whimper sounded from somewhere next to me. Startled from my thoughts, I glanced toward the source of the noise…Ian.

The smaller teen lay in his bed, tightly clenching the sheets between his fingers. His face seemed pained as he whimpered again, flipping onto his side subconsciously.

I blinked, knowing instantaneously what to do: In a place like the Abbey, that housed such troubled boys, it was difficult not to have nightmares.

I knelt next to Ian's bed, and tenderly shook his small frame. His only response was another whimper and more restless tossing.

"Leave 'im be," growled Bryan quietly from his bed. He sounded grouchier than even half an hour ago.

Gazing up, I noticed Bryan was irritably watching Ian and I. Tala had seemingly fallen asleep.

A moan from my short companion corralled my attention back to him. He began muttering something…something about…'Brody'. This name sounded familiar…but I forced away any curiosity and pursued the task of waking Ian up.

"_Stop_, Spencer," Bryan commanded, casting me a particularly nasty glare. "Let's here what he's saying."

Ignoring my roommate, I finally managed to shake Ian awake. The purple-haired boy seemed in a daze when he woke up, with his eyes glazed over, but he blinked a few times and wearily sat up. He glanced at Bryan and Tala, before allowing his gaze to rest on me.

Looking impassive, he lowered his eyes, and muttered, "Why'd you do that?"

I merely shrugged in reply, and abandoned his bedside to lie down again, determined to get a few winks of sleep.

I heard Ian lay down again, and spared him a glance; his apathetic mask was slightly cracked, as I could detect anguish on his features.

"Were giant spiders eating you alive?" sneered Bryan. "Or was a miniscule one crawling up your leg?"

"Shut it," Ian responded heatedly.

"Quiet, you two," I demanded, not wanting them to get into a fight, especially when I desired tranquility.

"No one died and made you boss," Bryan shot at me.

I discounted his words and carried on staring at the shadow-painted ceiling. I supposed he was exhausted, as he didn't press on.

None of us had had a nightmare in a long while…though we always endeavored to aid each other when we did. Bryan was basically the only one of the four of us who refused to take part in that; he called it weak, said it was expressing some form of a useless bond. I was well-aware that relationships could cause one pointless hurt and create problems, but they are valuable and vital things in life. Since I realized that, I was not so close-minded to calling my teammates my friends. Though they seemed reluctant to stick on the label, Tala and Ian certainly had shown that they care—in little ways—over the years. Bryan, though, was not like us in that sense…and many others, for that matter.

Bryan snorted, breaking the silence. "Today, you two have displayed how weak you are." Apparently, he couldn't let up without getting his two cents worth in. "First off, Ian actually _shrieks_ upon seeing a measly spider. And then there you go again with your worthless compassion, Spencer."

"What about Tala?" snarled Ian. "Hasn't he done anything to earn himself a compliment?"

I wondered why Ian was pushing the focus onto Tala…. Probably because of his anger at the redhead from earlier.

"Tala's a _robot_, remember, Ian? He's our _captain_. He's _flawless_."

"Tala isn't a robot—you are."

Mattress springs creaking were quickly proceeded by feet hitting the floor. Swiftly gazing to my right again, I noted Bryan was standing now, bedcovers mussed, fists clenched, anger clearly showing, and, to my shock, he was swaying somewhat on his feet, as if he were having a difficult time standing. His breath had become a bit ragged as he glowered at Ian, a deadly silence escaping his lips.

Ian simply gazed nonchalantly at Bryan as he sat up in his bed, clutching his bedcovers.

"What is going on?" barked Tala, who I now saw sitting up in his bed, scanning the scene before him.

I too sat up, curiously ogling my teammates.

Our captain gracefully slipped from his bed and sidled around Bryan's, so he was at the end of Ian's bed. "Would either of you care to explain what is going on?"

Neither of them spoke; they just continued staring at each other.

"This isn't a staring contest—you can break eye contact," Tala mused, eyes darting between them. Still, neither looked away from the other's eyes…. It was as if they were silently communicating with looks, sending each other messages with their gazes. If so, I believe Bryan was threatening Ian, and Ian was attempting to resist.

"Fine." Tala's voice interjected into my thoughts. "Ian, lie down and keep your mouth shut. Get to sleep, tomorrow's quite significant in our careers."

He paused, eyes resting on Ian, who did not move. "Ian, that is a direct order!"

Finally, my small teammate tore his gaze from Bryan. Avoiding eye contact with anyone else, he slumped back into his bed, tossing the covers messily over his head.

"Bryan, I'm amazed at the way you've broken your own rules and displayed such anger. Mind, _you're_ the only one who really gives a care that you don't show emotion." Here, Bryan's glare settled on Tala rather than Ian. The redhead was seemingly unfazed. "I'm also amazed at how you did manage to regain control over that anger, as I'm sure otherwise you would have hit Ian good and hard. Now lie down, don't speak, and go to sleep."

After a brief hesitation in which Bryan worsened his 'death' glare, the lavender-haired teen carelessly flopped back onto his bed, not bothering to get underneath the bedcovers.

Tala and I made eye contact for a short moment, and the look he gave me plainly stated that he expected me to follow the order of 'lie down, shut up, go to sleep'. Without any guarantees of the last one happening, I slumped down again.

Our captain swept back to his own bed and laid down, immediately closing his eyes so he could resume slumbering. He always managed to put things back in order...on the outside anyway.

Gazing at Bryan, I thought to myself, 'On the inside, he's probably raging. I can't imagine what must have goaded him into such anger, though. Emotion like that—that not even Bryan can have full control over—is not emotion that settles quickly and becomes nothing more than a memory….'

Sighing, I pushed all thoughts of my friends from my mind. After all, I needed my rest for tomorrow. As I mentioned, I believed I was the only one who remotely considered the possibility that Tala might lose the coming day's battle. We needed our sleep so we could be prepared for anything.

I turned onto my side, so I was facing a wall, and closed my eyes, once again bidding sleep to come.

'I don't know what tomorrow holds—in terms of the Championships, our lives, my friends…. But I know I'll need sleep to face it.'

**:End Chapter Four**

Wasn't his last musing so much shorter than the rest? XD I ran out of ideas.

Anywho, I was trying to go for something different—I had to have a reason why Spencer would be kinder and stuff, so my logic in backing that up was that his childhood (though still abnormal) was way better than the other Boys'.

Sorry if there were mistakes, I didn't proofread it because it's late and I have to go to bed because of school tomorrow, so sorry!

Yep…I'll stop rambling so y'all can get to those reviews!

And remember, next chapter's the last!

have a nice day

CyborgRockStar


	5. Beginning to Break Free

Hey everyone! It's been a while since I updated, ne? _sweatdrop _I'm very sorry... I was revising the ending for chapter five, and couldn't come up with something that I liked, so, in frustration, I decided I would just come back to it another day--and then I forgot about it, LOL. I finally decided on an ending I like, so...here it is. I hope everyone likes it! (Personally, this is one of my favorite stories I've written.)

Thank you so much to **ghostymangarocker**, **Clare**, **Lyrikkal**, **Tala's-Soul**, **storm-of-insanity**, **SOMEONE2003**, **Demenior**, and **DM666-san** for reviewing! You guys don't know how ecstatic your reviews make me, they're all so kind. Thank you so much! And thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed me and supported me throughout this fic! I hope you've all liked it!

Now, I have no idea how I managed to stretch this last chapter, only for the purpose of loose-end-tying, to be around the same length as the others, but it works for me. Hope you all enjoy the last installment!

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade; it belongs to Aoki Takao.

**Start Chapter Five:**

_Beginning to Break Free_

General POV

Feeble morning sunshine gave dim light to the bland dormitory of the Demolition Boys. The said boys lay asleep in their beds, sunlight not bothering them in the least.

Not a sound was heard inside the quiet room until a guard came clomping down the corridor and knocked on their door.

"Time to get up, Demolition Boys," the burly man called loudly in a bored tone. "You got an extra hour and a half to sleep, so you're expected to be eating your breakfast in less than ten minutes, ready to go to the tournament!"

Being the light-sleepers they were, the adolescents awoke instantly at the man's voice, absorbed what he said—interestedly or not—and listened to his footsteps resound down the hallway.

Usually, the teens would spring into action to dress so they could hurry and eat without being late, but today…the four boys sat silently, each gazing at something unseeingly. It was like a mutual, unspoken agreement to remain quiet and still. None of the boys were feeling up to moving; not because they doubted they could claim victory, but because they were nervous and excited, non-too-sure about their fates after the tournament ended and Voltaire had his desired control over the world.

Finally, the stillness was disturbed by the team captain. "We have to get going. Quickly."

xXx

Within seven minutes, each of the boys had changed their clothes. Within another two, they had fixed up their beds. And, taking into account their initial hesitation, they had already used up their ten minutes and then some.

So, by the time they made it to the Abbey's near-deserted dining hall (the other students were training), fifteen minutes had passed since they had awoken.

"You're late," a guard, leaning against the far wall, barked at them cantankerously. He marched over to the table their table, where their breakfast was placed, and pointed at the benches impatiently.

Tala, Ian, Bryan, and Spencer stared at their filled plates, a bit surprised they had received so much food. Usually, they were given only small portions, but today their meal was somewhat hearty.

"Probably cold by now," muttered the irritable guard, leaning once again against the wall. "And Master Boris has been so generous, with the extra sleep and food. What do you four do? You arrive late."

Bryan dared to shoot the guard a heated scowl, earning him a kick under the table from Spencer.

"You're already in trouble," reasoned the blond when Bryan turned the deadly look on him.

"Quit yappin' and eat!" the guard ordered, stalking hurriedly to Spencer so he could jab the boy in the back with a finger.

"Now, now," said a familiar voice, "don't be too harsh on them. They're going to win _everything_ for us, aren't they?"

All five males looked round and spotted Boris sweeping toward them.

"Sorry, sir," the brunette guard mumbled, inclining his head respectfully. Boris dismissed him with a wave, which the guard responded to immediately, scurrying out of the dining hall.

The four Demolition Boys had instantaneously stood at attention upon noting their mentor. Boris shifted his concentration onto them, and an ugly grin plastered his features.

"Sleep well?" he began casually, studying their apathetic faces.

"Yes, sir!" they chorused monotonously though loudly.

"Excellent. And I trust your meal will be suitable?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Brilliant."

The purple-haired man paced about in front of them, looking deeply contemplative. The teens appeared rather stoic, gaping straight ahead, mostly unmoving.

Pausing in his pace, Boris fixated his gray gaze on the shortest member of the team.

"Ian…you have served your purpose well in this tournament. Every order we gave you, you completed flawlessly. Your work in our plan is completed, and I congratulate you on a job well done."

"Thank you, sir!" This praise lifted Ian's spirits and made him momentarily forget about his slight anger at Tala for acting uncharacteristically and especially superior. And thoughts of his quarrel with Bryan flew from his mind as well. For this, and the fact he was anxious about Voltaire's dreams to be fulfilled, Ian was left with a temporary giddiness.

Though he made sure he would not display this feeling at all costs, which proved somewhat thorny.

Boris smirked widely, and turned his gaze upon the large blonde.

"Spencer…you too have served your purpose well, especially in the fact that you have defeated the traitor."—Boris didn't seem to want to mention Kai's name these days—"Your task is complete, and I applaud your great performance."

"Thank you, sir!" Spencer, too, felt somewhat giddy with these words of praise. After all, the boys rarely got such uplifting things said to them. Standing a bit straighter, Spencer was determined to keep his emotions in-line so his happiness did not deflate too quickly with a chastisement.

Moving on with his plan, Boris—smirk fading—brought his focus to his most ruthless student, who was still brooding and peeved over last night's events.

"Bryan…you always were a good student. But yesterday, you _failed_ Master Voltaire and I. Your punishment will be finished up later. Other than your most devastating, _foolish_ humiliation yesterday, you have fulfilled your purpose. And you did so well, I must say."

"Thank you, sir." Defeat was the ultimate letdown, the worst mistake. Unlike Ian and Spencer, Bryan did not feel anything remotely close to mirth. Instead, he was left angry at himself again, on top of the resentment he was currently feeling toward him teammates. Desiring nothing more than to sink away into a pit of oblivion, never to be seen again, Bryan resolutely kept all hints of a glare or scowl from his face. Pangs of rebellion resonated in his heart, and Bryan began, subconsciously, wishing he were anywhere in life than he was now, believing emotions weak and having to be the loser.

Proud, gleeful smirk returning, Boris solely centered his attention on Tala then.

"Tala…you are our top student here at Balkov Abbey. You have fulfilled every commitment given to you, including your expert captaining skills. Today, I much look forward to your success in the beydish. Congratulations on a well-done job thus far."

"Thank you, sir!" Tala sounded just as excited as Spencer and Ian. The human part of his brain was filled with a rush of glee and exhilaration at these praises and for his upcoming match. But the robotized half of his mind insisted he keep his eyes on the prize, and not forget he hadn't won yet…though his victory was 99.5 likely.

"Attend to your meals now," Boris commanded, attitude transforming back to harsh mentor just as rapidly as it had become praising and truthful.

xXx

The stone room was far from inviting. On the contrary, it was dull and bland, not to mention chilly and cobwebby. A large beydish, an orangey-brown color, like vomit, was dug into the floor. It was into this 'dish that a dark purple beyblade was launched.

Ian watched his beyblade spin round and round, still smirking about the praise he had received a half-hour ago.

From the other side of the 'dish, Tala launched his beyblade with perfect accuracy. The redhead studied Ian's 'blade as well as his own then, and mentally formulated a plan, using science and math, to claim the win, as he mumbled under his breath, "Processing".

As Ian made his move against Tala's gray beyblade, Spencer watched with some boredom, mulling over the coming Championship battle. Bryan was leaning against the wall next to where Spencer sat, lost in his own thoughts about what his punishment was to be (He had strong faith that Tala was going to win, and he therefore saw no point in pondering it the way Spencer was.).

The shortest member of the Demolition Boys was about to call forth his bitbeast, Wyborg, when Tala interjected.

"You know, Ian, you have a more than ninety-nine percent chance of losing this battle after I make my next move."

Briefly flabbergasted, Ian blinked. Regaining his poise, the red-eyed boy sneered, "Yeah right, Tala. Just because you're a robot—sorry, _cyborg_—doesn't mean you can make analyses and believe that they are correct."

"They _are_ correct, Ian. I am correct. The robotic portion of my brain ensures so. Wolborg! Attack!"

Tala's colorless 'blade circled about Ian's before abruptly lunging forward. Ian was about to respond, but once again was interrupted. This time, though, it was because his beyblade had just been rammed by his captain's, resulting in it wobbling furiously.

Renewed determination crisscrossed Ian's face as he knitted his eyebrows together, preparing to summon Wyborg.

"Wy—"

For the third time, Ian was cut off, but only because Wolborg had appeared in-the-flesh, snarling, and, with a swift command from Tala, attacked Ian's 'blade head on with its Blizzalog.

"What?" muttered the loser of the battle incredulously, watching his beyblade spiral from the 'dish and clatter to the stone floor. "How'd your beyblade get so quick?"

"The scientists enhanced it, increasing its agility and strength…like me I suppose," Tala mused, carelessly flicking at one of his scarlet bangs. After Wolborg returned to dwell inside his beyblade, Tala held out his hand and the gray object flew into it obediently.

Ian, a bit huffily, gathered up his fallen beyblade and shoved it in his pocket, striding defiantly toward the two onlookers.

Frost-blue eyes scanned over the other three boys, examining them closely, observing them the way Spencer so often did to his teammates. In his mind, Tala longed to overcome the other half and push away the thoughts centered on victory—he had something important to say to his teammates…his _friends_.

Closing his eyes lightly for a moment, a voice inside of Tala told him he shouldn't have friends, shouldn't care about them, should only think of victory. The redhead struggled against this, and finally managed to take control of the cyborg in his mind.

"Guys," he muttered, before anything internal prevented him from speaking, be it anxiety or the desire to win as he opened his eyes.

Instantly, the other three adolescents gazed up, impassiveness etched on their features.

"Bryan, Ian, Spencer…," Tala continued, looking them each in the eye. "Listen. My victory is guaranteed, I know it is, I know I can win…and not just because I'm genetically enhanced. I have the willpower and I have the proficiency. I'm not going to be humiliated by losing to a snot-nosed amateur."

Their captain took a deep, shuddering breath. "But…still, even if—even _when_—I win…I don't know what's to become of us. I'm not sure if we'll stay here, or be forced on the streets, or whatever. But I wanted to let you guys know"—again, he gazed into each pair of eyes individually—"that we're going to stick together through it. Even if relationships are weak, even if they're problematic, even if they're useless, even if we don't want them…we have them. One, anyway. The four of us have a bond…whether we like it or not."

Tala folded his arms as he finished his speech, meaning every word he said, and hoped that his teammates would agree. The other three boys seemed contemplative as they absorbed what Tala had presented to them. A silence descended upon the boys.

Finally, something happened. Something unexpected…but significant.

Spencer smiled. No, not a smirk, but a genuine _smile_. No matter how small. None of them had smiled in years, labeling this as a potential breakthrough….

And, with that smile on his lips, Spencer said, "I know exactly what you're saying. We're in this—we're in _life_—together."

And in another precious moment, Tala returned Spencer's smile with a tiny one of his own.

Bryan appeared a bit sickened at all of this, but Ian seemed to feel right at home. He straightened out from his position against the wall, and added to the smile-fest.

"Together," he put in, extending a hand toward Spencer.

Perplexed, Spencer eyed Ian's outreached hand. Then, smile reappearing and broadening, he clasped his hand on top of his shorter companion's.

Tala strolled toward them, and casually placed his hand on top of his two teammates' right hands.

All three, lame smiles on their faces, looked toward Bryan, who was ogling at them skeptically. "You don't think I'm going to join in your pathetic, girlish friendship circle, do you?"

"It's not a circle, it's a triangle right now," Ian reasoned, immediately feeling like a moron after saying that…but he refused to show it.

With a glower adorning his face, Bryan stalked toward them and slowly reached out his hand…but quickly pulled it back. Closing his eyes, he turned away, glaring at the wall.

Ian recognized some truth in Bryan's statement, but didn't want to stand for it. It felt as though they _needed _to do this, needed to make that bond Tala spoke of physical and not just emotional. The short teen thought of something then, realized something, and, on a whim, decided he would speak out about it: It might sew holes in the fabric of their friendship, he reasoned.

"Bryan…," began Ian, though he trailed off.

The lavender-eyed boy scowled at his teammate. "What now?"

"…I'm sorry…for calling you a robot."

Ian gazed downward, any hints of emotion gone, as he hid his shame well.

Tala and Spencer managed to mask their curiosity, and pretended to disregard the scene playing out before them.

After a few interminable moments silence, Bryan mustered a, "What did you say?"

"I'm…sorry." The tiny boy dared to look back at Bryan.

Looking a tad incredulous, Bryan mulled over this statement. He knew Ian would never say such a thing unless he meant it in all sincerity. All of a sudden, Bryan felt like a normal teenager, an ordinary boy, for a fleeting moment, and allowed himself to think like one.

The teenager shrugged in reply to Ian, turned about, and placed his hand on top of theirs.

And so, each of the Demolition Boys knew that the fact they had basically admitted their friendship to each other in this gesture of piling hands—like a friendly team would do—was against everything they had been taught about relationships at Balkov Abbey. But this bond that the four of them shared was something special, something that they only sometimes realized was there, and since they were confessing it to each other through this gesture…they were making their very first step down the road to recovery, beginning to break free of the restraints the Abbey placed on them.

**:End Story**

Have a beautiful day and God Bless!

CyborgRockStar


End file.
